


Electric Heart (I Didn't Mean Literally!)

by thelovelydark



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Electrocution, Gen, Kidnapping, Potentially out of character, Torture, Whumptober, i have been up for too long, i might come back and edit this later, no beta we die like men, this is a goddamn mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelovelydark/pseuds/thelovelydark
Summary: Connor wakes up alone, with no memory of how he got there. It does not turn out well.
Relationships: Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950736
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Electric Heart (I Didn't Mean Literally!)

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer time!!  
> first and foremost: yes, there is torture in this,, but its pretty brief and not super graphic, read at your own discretion; i do not own detroit become human; any similarities the oc has here is just coincidence, i just googled popular names and made him nuts; i looked up stuff on google maps but i do not live in detroit so forgive any mistakes about time nd stuff,
> 
> i feel like i'm forgetting something here but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> also i wrote this on google docs so if the format is whack pls let me know and i'll fix it!! <3

Connor doesn’t know how he wound up in this situation. No, really, he doesn’t; his memory files from the last 17 hours are corrupted. What he _does_ know is he has woken up alone in a blindingly bright room, hanging by his wrists from the ceiling just low enough for his toes to reach the floor. It’s not comfortable by any means, but at least any damage his diagnostic can detect is superficial, barring a suspiciously wrench-shaped dent in the back of his head—clearly the injury that brought Connor here. 

The next thing he checks is his internet connection, and finds it missing. That leaves Connor not only without his GPS, but also his communications system; even if the android does manage to find out where he was, he would be unable to alert anyone. 

Before he can do anything else, Connor hears the telltale sound of a heavy door opening behind him, and a connection abruptly snaps into place, before it dissolves again when the door is closed once more. When he attempts to turn to see who entered, he has the troublesome realization that _he can’t move his body_ . He has no clue how he hadn’t noticed it before. (Perhaps his processors actually had been impaired?) The source of the problem was a program coming from a USB stuck in the RK800’s data port, completely halting any motor functions below his neck. In short: it rendered Connor helpless.

Well. Not _completely_ helpless. He’s the negotiator, after all. 

An average looking human male waltzes into view, stopping only a foot away from the android. Confident, then; assured that the code was working despite no definitive evidence it was. Connor is pleased to see that, despite his disconnect from the outside world, he still has access to the DPD’s database. (He was grateful he uploaded it to his offline cloud, even if it had been just to spite Hank.) In front of him stands Andrew Thompson, born 03/19/1995, unemployed, with a criminal record of trespassing and destruction of property. Considering his current situation, he’d bet the latter charge was an android hate crime. 

Looking at Connor as though he was something under a microscope, Thompson spoke. “It was a lot easier to get you than I thought it would be. I mean, you’re a heap of scrap metal, but you’re supposed to be a smart pile of junk. Guess even top of the market doesn’t mean much.” Staying silent, Connor just stares. “What, not even gonna ask why we have you?” 

Morphing his expression into something apologetic and vaguely surprised, the android replies. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was under the impression you did not want me to speak. Would you like to tell me why I am here?” 

Thompson squints, then shakes his head and chuckles. Instead of answering immediately, he starts pacing a circle around where Connor is suspended, mumbling what sounds like gibberish to himself. In a daring move, he even pokes at the back of Connor’s neck, and lets out a pleased hum when Connor does nothing, effectively subdued as he is. Content in this knowledge, the man walks to a table that the RK800 can only see in his peripheral vision once he cranes his neck. 

“I wanted to test the new tech my brother gave me, and when you came sniffing around all alone, it was just the perfect opportunity. I mean, I’m due to give him payment soon anyway, so it works out well that you stumbled upon me. Now—” Thompson strides back in front of him with his hands hidden behind his back. “I think you’ll like what I have to start out with.” 

The instrument he reveals looks not unlike a cattle prod. The grip was different, though, bent at an angle rather than straight, and it had three prongs instead of two. Smirking, Thompson presses the power, causing electricity to spark at the tips. 

Giving a wicked smile, he purposefully aligns the electrodes along the rim of Connor’s thirium pump regulator, and a jolt of fear flashes through the android. It was already obvious Thompson did not intend for him to make it out of here, likely using his body as payment to his brother, but it was suddenly much more real. Connor was, by far, much sturdier than most other models, and could recover from injuries commercial androids could not; but even then he is not invincible, and his regulator would still fail if pushed too far. Having it ripped out was terrifying, yes, but there was still an opportunity for him to put it back in; if it gets damaged beyond repair, there’s no saving himself. (He forcefully ignores the fact that even if Thompson did only tear out his regulator, he could do nothing about it.) 

He can only hope he isn’t about to be shocked to death immediately. 

After multiple pauses before turning it on, Connor wonders if the suspense is supposed to be part of the torture, or if the man is just hesitating for reasons unknown. It’s to the point that Connor suspects it is simply being used as an intimidation tactic, and it is only _then_ that Thompson strikes. 

It’s unlike anything Connor has ever experienced before, and the only thing he can think is that it _hurts._ Androids are not supposed to be able to feel pain, and yet here he is, with his jaw clenched so tight he fears it might get stuck. 

It’s over in what seems like hours, but could only have been a minute, two tops. He opens his eyes, (when had he closed them?) and Thompson is scowling. “That’s so unsatisfying, with you unable to give a good reaction. All of my toys will be. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before... Maybe, maybe Joe will give me better code. Yeah, yes I think he will… I should, I should go see him.” As he grumbles, the man gets a more and more manic look about him. 

However, his words give Connor hope. Sure, electrocution isn’t fun, and he can guarantee none of Thompson’s other devices would be; but it’s the possibility of him _leaving_. Earlier, Connor had briefly caught a connection with the door open, and if he could stall his captor long enough... he could get a message to Sixty. But first, he needs to make sure Thompson actually does leave. 

And nothing would motivate him more than thinking it’s the opposite of what Connor wants, no matter how illogical that would be if it were true. If that requires pleading, well... His life is worth it. To make it more convincing, he plasters his lingering panic on his face, before interrupting the murmurs with the words of someone too lost in fear that they only latch onto the scariest thing. “Please don’t. What do you mean, better code? I already can’t move, what else do you want? I can’t do anything!” 

Thompson freezes, clearly torn, then relaxes a moment later. He must believe the emotion Connor is displaying (that is still a little too real, thank you very much), and accept it as the cause for his selective hearing. Grinning, the man says, “Well, if you really don’t want me to go so much, I think I might just have to.” Excitedly resuming his muttering, he moves around the android to the hidden table. 

While he’s doing that, Connor hurries to place his timeline. Once the door is open, he’ll have to recalibrate his GPS, since—

He already has his current coordinates. He had been so focused on the fact that he couldn’t move, that there was a threat in the room, that he hadn’t even noticed them update. Examining them, he was surprised to find himself in a storage facility less than 5 minutes from Central Station. _Huh._

Connor mentally shakes himself when he hears Thompson approach. He assumed the man would be empty handed, as he was when he entered, but he was holding a tripod missing the camera mount, with the android-prod (for lack of better name) loosely placed in it instead. 

_Oh god, no._

Connor felt sick to his non-existent stomach. 

“Have you caught on yet? I’m going to leave a little experiment that doesn’t require me here for you. I can make this go on and off and on and off, you see, and I want to know just how long you can take it.” Thompson giggled. 

Connor blinked, trying to come up with something, anything, that would deter him, and threw out the first thing he thought of... “But what if something happens when you’re gone? The code you’re leaving for would be useless, rendering the trip a loss.” …and winced. Maybe a little too much. 

However, Thompson does not seem inclined to stay; he did, though, dance in place. “Oh, I knew you’d ask the right question. If something goes wrong, there’s that other one of your model. It even works with you, right?” He looks imploringly at Connor, and gets a glare in return. How _dare_ he even mention Sixty. 

Connor decides his best course of action is to bite his tongue until his captor leaves. Thompson pouts, honest to god pouts, but says nothing. Connor tries his best to ignore the arranging of what could very possibly be the death of him, and composes multiple small messages to shoot off in a row, knowing that more information can be delivered that way before he is inevitably cut off. 

Thompson finally stands straight, satisfied with the positioning of his torture device, and has the audacity to pull out his phone and take a photo. Connor holds back a snarl, and resolves to grind it into dust, should he get the chance. Instead, he puts forth a defeated front. Thompson giggles once more, and turns to leave.

As soon as he hears the latch open, Connor calls out, while simultaneously rapidly firing his messages to Sixty as soon as he is able. “Wait! Why… Why are you doing this? It isn’t right.” 

**[ > RK800 313 248 317 - 60:** I’m being held at 1551 Church St, Downtown Self Storage, by an Andrew Thompson, born 03/19/1995. Currently leaving to meet a brother named Joe. 

**< RK800 313 248 317 - 52:** _Connor??_

 **<** _Jesus fucking Christ are you okay_

 **>** This doesn’t appear to be a standard storage unit: no roll up door, and when shut in I have no connection. **]**

Thompson let out a sigh, and for a moment Connor thought he was going to shut the door to come back inside. 

**[ >** Get someone here ASAP. Biocomponent #8456w is going to be intermittently electrocuted for unknown lengths of time. Already has been once. **]**

“All you androids are the same. How is it wrong for me to play with my toys?” 

**[ <** _Hang in there, Con_

 **< ** _YOUR REGULATOR???_

 **>** I’m unable to move due to an invasive program, plus restraints on my wrists to the ceiling. 

**> ** Yes, my regulator. **]**

Connor didn’t respond, as the answer he wanted to give was both too lengthy and required empathy. Thompson just sighed again, and Connor could hear him retreating. 

**[ >** And, for the record, I can do nothing _but_ ‘hang in there.'

 **>** I’ve stalled as much as I could. He’s about to close the door.

 **<** _I’m getting Hank_

 **<** _We’ll be there soon_

 **>** Please b3 c@r3fu111 # !,,, **]**

“Oh, right! Before I go…” Connor heard a ‘click,’ and once again, all he knew was pain. 

*

 **[ <** _Connor?_ **]**

**_Message failed to send. Try again?_ **

**[ < ** _Fuck._ **]**

**_Message failed to send. Try again?_ **

**Author's Note:**

> man this is a goddamn mess. i haven't even proofread it but i don't even CARE at this point... i spent too long on this to not post it so if i want to fix something i'll just edit it later. also i have been up for like 36 hours if there are plot holes please forgive me,


End file.
